


It's Not Easy Being Green

by Twice_Shy (notboldly)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Animal Transformation, First Kiss, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mutual Pining, True Love's Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 06:16:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5698093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notboldly/pseuds/Twice_Shy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While attempting to cast a spell to find his true love, Stiles accidentally turns himself into a frog.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not Easy Being Green

If there was one lesson worth remembering from Stiles's two years spent training under Deaton, it was this: magic, as something great and powerful and mystical, did not appreciate being used for trivial things. It was a rule that Deaton had tried to impress upon him time and time again, usually by way of horrible stories about mages who'd tried to use magic to fix their plumbing and then came away with a permanent desire to drink dish soap, or an emissary who'd tried to use it to find their car keys and wound up merged with their car for two months instead. The stories were all true, or so Deaton claimed, and Stiles believed him just enough to be cautious about using magic for any old thing. Despite the definite temptation, he'd never attempted to use magic to find a misplaced item, get out of paying for a plumber, or stop missionaries from knocking on his door. He avoided the minor magical tweaks, the insignificant and everyday things, and as a result, he thought he and magic understood each other.

So, really, Stiles couldn't be blamed for thinking that a spell, in a spell book, was legitimate enough to avoid the backfire. Deaton had hundreds of spellbooks, most of them locked away and guarded by Derek, his grumpy werewolf associate, but Stiles only wanted one book, _any_ book. Just one harmless spell to try out on his own, without supervision or censure; he'd thought Derek, as the youngest son of a booming werewolf family, would understand wanting to test his skills on his own terms. 

Despite this convincing argument, it took Stiles nearly two weeks to talk Derek into loaning him a random spellbook for one night. Stiles had every intention of using that time wisely, and he hurried home once he had it in his grasp, mind already jumping from page to page. He knew exactly which book Derek had reluctantly given him, because he'd seen Deaton use it himself; the spells contained within its pages were all light and easy, the equivalent of magic with a child-proof lock on it. Because Derek was a butthead who probably suspected Stiles of nefarious plots despite having known him for almost two years, the spells were also almost completely harmless whether done correctly or not. Stiles didn't let that deter him, because what he lacked in knowledge, he made up for with imagination. The book contained protection spells for the home and hearth, weather spells for when you wanted one clear day during a storm, spells for finding things that only magic could find, and the possibilities were _endless_.

By the time Stiles had made it home, he already knew which spell he wanted to try, and he set everything up carefully. The runes were drawn, the ingredients combined and burning quietly to ash, and he said the spell words with conviction of heart and mind, the way he'd always been taught. He was rewarded with a promising plume of smoke, bright green and sweet smelling, and he ignored the sudden chill he felt when it brushed his skin. It was a warm summer night; the chill would pass shortly.

It didn't. If anything, the cold only seemed to get worse, and it turned into a wet feeling that stretched across his skin. His eyes suddenly felt dry and swollen, his tongue thick in his mouth, and Stiles knew he'd messed the spell up even before he hit his bedroom floor.

***

Stiles wasn't sure how long he'd been unconscious, but it was still dark outside when he woke up on the ground, the carpet surprisingly rough beneath his fingers. He blinked his eyes sluggishly, confused, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stand, couldn't reach out a hand to pull himself up. He couldn't lift his head above floor level either, and once the dancing spots cleared from his vision, his eyesight was…sharper somehow, except for the way the dim light from the desk lamp ballooned out, making shapes in the room seem indistinct despite the additional light. And that was another thing that was strange; hadn't he been facing the bed when he'd collapsed? He couldn't remember, but something felt odd about the way he could see everything even though he couldn't move.

Before he could begin to truly panic, however, he heard a noise, a pounding and then a familiar creak of wood. There were footsteps coming up the stairs, and when he realized that, Stiles immediately tried to call for help. All that came out was a high-pitched, horrible chirping sound.

"Stiles? Are you home?" The voice sounded like Derek, and now that Stiles thought about it, so did the footsteps. Of course it was Derek; he _would_ show up out of nowhere, if only to make sure Stiles wasn't abusing his book privileges.

The chirping sounds increased.

"What the hell is that noise? Stiles, you better not be—" The door burst open, and the rush of wind pushed Stiles back across the carpet. Wait, _wind_ pushed him back? Had he been shrunk?

Stiles stared fearfully at Derek's boots. He'd seen _Honey, We Shrunk the Kids_ once before, and he'd had the childhood nightmares to prove it; he knew how this one ended, especially when he still couldn't move.

"Oh," Derek said flatly, looking down at him from the doorway. "It's a frog."

_A frog!?_

"No. No, I can't be a frog," Stiles tried to say, but all that came out was a condemning ribbit.

Oh God, he'd turned himself into a _frog_ , and no one knew. What if he was stuck like this forever? What if he got stepped on or died in some tragic vacuum cleaner accident, and no one ever found out what had happened to him? The possibility was horrifying, and he ribbited faster, trying to force out words. All it did was make Derek look at him strangely.

Derek, who had his hand on the doorknob and was clearly about to leave.

"No! Derek, wait!" Stiles tried to say, and he lurched forward desperately. Surprisingly, it resulted in a hop, a disorienting motion that left his eyes unfocused when he landed. He ignored it and repeated the motion, moving towards Derek as quickly as he could. It was an impossible goal if Derek actually tried to leave; Stiles would never catch him, not if he was only jumping forward maybe a couple inches at a time.

He must have been acting pretty strangely for a frog, though, because Derek kept watching him as he hopped ever closer.

"I don't think you're supposed to come toward me. What if I was a predator?" Derek said, and huh, Stiles wouldn't have thought he was the kind of guy to talk to random animals.

Stiles ribbited in response and kept hopping. Close, he was so close; he focused on hopping alone, and he stopped only when he was nearly at the rubber of Derek's sole.

"If you hop on my shoe, so help me, I'll kick you under the bed," Derek said from somewhere far above him, and Stiles was almost positive he didn't mean it. Almost. He still turned around and hopped a few times in the opposite direction, though, just to give Derek some breathing room. If he was ribbiting indignantly the whole time, well, it wasn't like Derek understood him. Or anything. _Oh God, Stiles was going to die a frog._

To his surprise, though, his hopping maneuvers got Derek's attention, and Stiles could've cried when Derek crouched down on one knee to stare at him. The expression on his face was wary, and Stiles thanked every deity he could think of for the fact that Derek was suspicious by nature.

"I didn't think Stiles had a pet," Derek said, and from this close, he was a giant, his voice booming. Stiles supposed he had better hearing as a frog, but he was too anxious to be that excited about it. "And you don't look like you're from around here." Derek stared at him for a minute more before he nodded decisively and stood, suddenly enough that Stiles lost sight of him above his knees. He couldn't even tilt his head back, and he ribbited softly, worried that Derek was going to leave him here.

Instead, Derek stepped over him, to Stiles's desk and the open spellbook. The tray with the spell's ashes was still resting on his bed, and Stiles could see it, somehow, with his wider range of vision. He watched as Derek picked it up and breathed deeply.

"Roses and honey, bloodroot and…holly? Dammit, Stiles." He set the tray aside and turned to the spellbook, and Stiles waited, his heart (hearts? Did he have more than one, now?) pounding in anticipation. He'd read the spell thoroughly before he began, and he doubted there was a line that said "possible side effect: frog." If anyone could find proof of his folly, though, Derek would.

Not a minute later, he heard Derek huff.

"'For Finding a True Love'? _That's_ the spell you tried?" Derek stepped away from the desk and walked over to crouch in front of Stiles once more. This time, his stare was accusing; Stiles almost preferred Derek thinking he was just a strange frog. "I thought you were going to find a spell to shield the Jeep from mud or something. But you actually attempted a _love spell_?" Derek sighed like Stiles was the worst thing to ever happen to him, and that stung a little, deserved criticism or not. "Love spells always end badly, you idiot."

"Yeah, I'm getting that," Stiles said, even though his response was, of course, disguised by a ribbit. But this mix-up wasn't his fault, not really; the spell he'd chosen wasn't technically a love spell, it was a "finding things" spell. He'd thought the distinction was enough, although he realized, now, that the magic may have disagreed. Never use magic for trivial things, Deaton had said; Stiles was fully prepared to take that lesson to heart from now on.

Derek sighed again.

"Wait here. I'll be right back."

He left the room, and Stiles unwillingly began chirping almost as soon as he left. He tried to ignore it while he waited perfectly in place; if Derek had any doubts that Stiles-the-frog was actually Stiles, he wanted to prove he could at least understand him enough to follow orders.

He regretted that immediately, though, when Derek came back with a mason jar, empty except for a twig and a leaf. Stiles's chirping abruptly ended.

"You've gotta be _shitting_ me," Stiles said, even though Derek obviously couldn't understand him. "I'm not getting into that thing. I'm not a five-year-old's pet, you asshole."

"I'm taking you to Deaton," Derek said unnecessarily as he untwisted the lid. "And I'm really not sure if carrying you would hurt you, so we're going to be cautious, for once." He shot Stiles a pointed look, and okay, fine, Stiles probably couldn't argue with that, even if he'd had the ability to.

When Derek opened the jar and tilted it towards him, Stiles obediently hopped in. It was humiliating, but to his credit, Derek didn't say anything else when he nudged him very gently over the lip of the jar. Stiles was grateful, and although it was extremely disconcerting to be lifted high above the ground with only a twig to hold onto with two surprisingly strong feet-hands, he admitted it was kind of nice to be held against Derek's chest even like this. Stiles could hear his heartbeat if he concentrated, and that was sort of comforting. Slow and steady, with even spacing between each beat.

Well. If Derek wasn't worried, Stiles probably had no reason to be.

"Let's go see Deaton," Derek said, and then they were off, Stiles clinging desperately to his surroundings with each world-rocking step.

***

They interrupted Deaton in the middle of his dinner, judging by the mashed potatoes that were decorating his mustache when he answered the door. He was not happy about it, clearly, but Derek was charmingly blunt when he wanted to be, so the confused and annoyed expression on his face didn't last long.

"Stiles turned himself into a frog," Derek said, with a gesture of his massive hand to Stiles's jar. "A spell gone wrong, I think."

The skin of Deaton's forehead went pinched.

"Well, you'd better come inside then." 

He moved aside to allow them in, but when he made to grab the jar, Stiles instinctively pushed himself into the glass, closer to Derek. Derek either didn't notice or didn't care, because he relinquished his jar easily enough, and Stiles ignored the small stab of betrayal he felt at that. Deaton needed to look at him, after all; it was fine. His reaction made no sense, really.

Deaton raised Stiles up to eye level, turning the jar this way and that. It made it difficult to focus on anything but the massive brown eyes staring at him like he was a specimen up for dissection.

"I think he's a loud big-eyed tree frog. Genus _Nyctimystes_. A young one, judging by the coloring." His gaze darted behind Stiles, likely landing on Derek. 

Derek snorted, sounding amused.

"A loud big-eyed tree frog. That sounds about right."

Stiles ribbited angrily, unwittingly bringing Deaton's focus back to him.

"They're not even supposed to be outside the tropics, never mind in North America. Are you sure this is Stiles?"

"Mostly sure. He was attempting a spell for finding true love, and his scent didn't leave his bedroom. He was just suddenly not there, and, well. There was a frog."

"Ah. Well, let's hope this is him, then." Deaton smiled, but up close, the gesture was terrifying. Stiles couldn't help hoping he was one of those poisonous species of frog. "Ribbit three times if you're Stiles."

Stiles ribbited three times, although it was a little hard to stop at just that. It seemed good enough for Deaton, however, who nodded once and then thankfully set him down gently on the dining room table. It was dark wood, and it was probably Stiles's new froggy nature that made him find comfort in that.

"This should be easy enough to fix. If it was a spell to find true love, well, it seems to be working properly."

"Say that again?"

Stiles didn't have to see Derek to know he was shooting Deaton a dubious look. For once, Stiles agreed with him completely.

"Surely you've heard of the princess and the frog," Deaton answered, voice mild enough that it took a minute to sink in.

If it had been possible, Stiles's jaw would have dropped, and he didn't want to know what expression Derek was wearing. 

"True love's kiss," Derek said dully, skepticism in every word. Stiles felt a chill, all of a sudden. "You think true love's kiss will solve this? And, what, am I supposed to take him around all the bars in the area and find people to kiss him?"

"If you think that's necessary," Deaton said, expression serene. Stiles wasn't surprised when Derek growled at him.

"He'll give them salmonella. Or they'll hurt him, somehow."

"I don't think so. There'd be no point to the spell if it had a serious chance of failure. He hasn't tried to eat any insects, has he?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"And he obviously doesn't fear humans, nor does he have any trouble understanding us. He only looks like a frog. A temporary magic disguise." Deaton looked almost impressed, and Stiles would've appreciated it if the transformation had been even slightly on purpose. As it was, he couldn't think of anything worse than being carried around in a jar for some unknown period of time, by _Derek_ , on a quest to find his true love.

"Oh, and you can handle him with your hands, if you need to," Deaton called out over his shoulder as he led them back to the front door. "I doubt it will hurt him, and it might even help."

Stiles changed his mind; apparently, he _could_ imagine something worse.

***

They tried the bars first, which—while it sounded like a joke—was actually pretty typical behavior for Derek. Derek hadn't had the best romantic history, everyone in town knew that, and it didn't surprise Stiles at all to find out that Derek's idea of a good place to locate "true love" was dark, slightly seedy, and full of lost, lonely souls. It was a little sad, honestly, and Stiles told himself, once he was human again, that he'd do something to help Derek out of the relationship funk he was in.

Of course, Stiles's pity came to an abrupt end when he realized that Derek, lacking any subtlety at all, could actually approach people, say "kiss my frog," and have it _work_. Not that often—some of the people he went up to didn't wait for Derek to pull Stiles completely out of his shirt pocket before they rightly bolted—but a truly alarming number of people humored him long enough for him to explain, and those that didn't at least laughed. If Stiles had tried anything similar before the spell, he would've probably gotten a drink thrown in his face or been banned from the premises entirely. But no, that apparently wasn't a problem for Derek, with his spicy cologne and broad chest and deliciously bearded face.

After two hours of wandering around the bar, Stiles had been kissed three times, and Derek had received nine phone numbers scribbled on napkins. _Nine_. It was abundantly clear that this was never going to work, because the people who were agreeing to kissing a frog when a handsome man asked them to were obviously interested in _Derek_ , not _the frog_.

It wasn't a great start to true love, that was for certain, and Stiles told himself that was the only reason he burned with envy after each encounter.

"This is never going to work," Stiles grumbled, his ribbiting muffled by the thump of music and the cloth of Derek's shirt. "They're not kissing me because I'm Stiles, they're kissing me because you're the one holding me. You're the worst true love wingman ever, seriously."

Derek may not have understood him, but he seemed to come to the same conclusion a few minutes later, after getting two more phone numbers in quick succession. He sighed and walked quickly out of the bar, and Stiles felt the motion all around him.

"This isn't going to work," Derek said softly, for Stiles's frog-ears alone. "They don't even know who they're kissing. If they knew, they'd—" Derek swallowed, the sound loud, and he stopped by a trash can long enough to throw the napkins in his pocket away. Stiles felt sad all over again; he'd apparently only taken them to be polite.

"We need a new plan."

***

The second place Derek went was Lydia's house, and Stiles understood that, in theory. The amount of time Stiles had spent talking about Lydia at the beginning of their acquaintanceship was criminal, and Derek had probably been too overwhelmed with gratitude to care when it tapered off. That was Stiles's fault; he'd never actually told Derek that his crush on Lydia was over, because it definitely would've opened up the floor for questions about who had replaced her. That wasn't a conversation Stiles ever wanted to get into, not with Derek, and he was sure silence on the matter would've only given him away. 

Stiles didn't make a sound when Derek knocked loudly on Lydia's front door, although he did pop up to peek over the edge of his pocket. He wanted to see Lydia's expression when this question was asked, seriously.

Lydia answered the door and took one look at them, eyes narrowed on Stiles for an long moment, before she shook her head.

"I don't want to know why Stiles is a frog," she said, and Stiles was confused until he remembered that, being a banshee, she could probably actually see his soul despite his current body. "But I'm sure I want nothing to do with whatever is going on."

"True love spell," Derek said, sounding immensely uncomfortable. "Can be broken by a kiss."

"Yeah, I'm not his true love. I'm Jackson's, remember?" Lydia said, which was about the best argument she could've had. Everyone remembered the Kanima. "Besides, I'm not really his type, not anymore. He's a little more into dick these days, honestly. Or maybe it varies by day, I don't know."

"Oh."

That was all Derek said, the one word sounding punched out and surprised, and his heart had started racing. Stiles wondered if he was thinking about all the times Stiles had found an excuse to be around him, all the times Stiles had volunteered to help him dust Deaton's books rather than going home after a long day. He hoped not.

Stiles stared at Lydia, but he didn't know if he was capable of silently telling her to _shut the hell up, my God_. She didn't look inclined to say anything else, at least, and when she darted forward to plant a strawberry-scented kiss on Stiles's head, neither of them moved.

She pulled back with a smile.

"There. For luck, at least."

She went back inside and slammed the door, and Derek didn't move from her porch for a long time.

***

Derek couldn't just drop it. Of course he couldn't. As much as Stiles wished the last ten minutes hadn't happened, it would be detrimental to their entire operation if Derek ignored the knowledge that, hey, Stiles might not be looking for a _princess_ after all.

"I didn't mean to assume." The words were quiet and directed at his pocket, clearly expecting some noise in response. Stiles kept his head down, making himself small. Smaller. "If I've only been asking women this whole time and you like men too, I've been wasting time. I wish I'd known that earlier." He breathed out, the sound heavy with regret. "Do you want to try Scott next? One ribbit for yes, two for no."

Stiles really didn't, but he ribbited once anyway. It couldn't hurt, except, of course, in all the ways it did.

They tried Scott. They tried Isaac, then Allison (she was there, and Stiles wasn't exactly going to say no), and then they tried Boyd, Erica, Danny, and a few people Stiles only vaguely remembered from high school. They tried everyone in Stiles's handful of friends, everyone it could conceivably be…except one. Derek wasn't going to kiss him, though, and Stiles had known that from the start, before he'd ever turned into a frog. That was the entire reason he'd cast the spell; if Derek had wanted to kiss him, there would've been no need to look for anyone else.

It was nearly two in the morning when Derek finally gave up, frustration all but coming off him in waves as they left Erica's house.

"I don't understand," he said through gritted teeth, hands clenched tight around the wheel. Stiles could feel the tension in his chest, like Derek was made of warm concrete. "If it's not one of your friends and it's not a stranger, who else could it be?" He yanked the wheel a little too hard in a left turn. "I'm taking you home."

Stiles couldn't help but panic at the thought of being left alone in his house. What if Derek never came back?

"Hey, no, you can't just abandon me! Look, I know this wasn't how you wanted your evening to go, but if it's taking too much time or whatever, I can just stay a frog and live in your pocket. Hey, you could teach me to do tricks! No other frog could top them, I promise you that." Stiles was rambling, a steady stream of distressed ribbiting, and one of Derek's hands came up to rest very lightly against his pocket. That gentle touch was enough to quiet him.

"I meant my home, idiot. I need a shower and a few hours' sleep, and then we can try again."

Stiles was embarrassed by how comforting that was, so he kept silent throughout the drive. Mostly. He did let out the occasional ribbit, but that was primarily because Stiles was physically incapable of being silent for more than a few minutes at a time.

Fortunately for them both, it only took ten minutes to reach the plot of forest that contained Derek's tiny house, a fortress hereto forbidden to Stiles. Stiles didn't have time to really enjoy his surroundings from the sanctuary of Derek's pocket, however, because as soon as they entered the front door, Derek pulled him out and set him gently in a cereal bowl on his counter.

"Just for a few minutes," Derek said, looking apologetic. "I'll be right back."

Stiles tried to glare, but he wasn't sure how effective it was with his enormous frog eyes. It didn't matter, though, because as soon as Derek left his sight, he automatically began his shrill chirping again. The noise carried, echoed through the entire house. He hoped it made Derek's ears ring, that he heard Stiles's sweet frog song despite the running water around him.

Stiles promptly got distracted from his sulking by the thought of Derek in the shower, and he spent the next few minutes idly replaying the images it brought to mind. His frog body seemed completely uninterested in anything, aside from the now near-constant chirping; it was strangely disappointing, but then again, Stiles wasn't certain that he really wanted to know what arousal felt like when he was a frog. He didn't think he could ever be normal again after that, and he was contemplating the complications of such a thing—would he react to a girl frog? What if his true love was _also_ a frog?—when the water shut off and Derek came back to the kitchen. 

Shirtless and with a towel around his neck, because he was cruel like that.

"Why do you keep making that sound?" Derek asked curiously, and Stiles was too distracted by the water droplets on Derek's chest to register the question immediately. He was a frog, and that was water; distraction was totally justifiable, and his motives were pure. Honest.

Derek kept staring at him in silence, clearly waiting for his ribbit-babble, and Stiles understood.

Right. The chirping.

"I have no idea," Stiles said honestly, because he was barely a dog person, much less someone who knew anything about frogs. He made a note to research it when he was human, because if anyone in Beacon Hills could get turned into a frog twice, it was definitely him. "Maybe it's a call for help. Or something frogs do when bored."

Derek smiled at him, a brief flash of teeth.

"Yeah, you're probably right, whatever you're saying." 

Stiles sat up a little straighter at the compliment, and then gave another ribbit in response, hoping to keep that smile there. It had the opposite effect.

"Of course, I'd actually _know_ what you were saying if you weren't a frog. Dammit, Stiles."

Derek pushed away from the counter with a sigh, looking like he was preparing to deliver a lecture. Stiles had been expecting it all evening, frankly.

Derek surprised him, however; when he turned around, he had an expression of remorse rather than reproach on his face.

"I'm sorry," Derek said, because of course he did. Stiles couldn't wring an apology out of him at the best of times for any of their little arguments, but apparently he was contrite enough when he hadn't actually done anything wrong. "I should've given you a different book. I didn't think you'd actually try a love spell; you've never had any trouble getting dates." 

Derek sounded guilty and miserable, and out of everything that had gone wrong that night, this was the thing Stiles regretted the most. He wanted to apologize or argue or both, because Derek was so _wrong_ , but he didn't get the chance; Derek shook himself out of his mood with a firm shake of his head before he could get a sound out. 

It was probably for the best; it's not like Derek would've understood the words anyway.

"You know what—nevermind. It's been a long night." Derek gave a blatantly fake yawn, and then picked up Stiles's bowl. "Where do you want to sleep? Under the lamp? One ribbit for yes, two for no?"

Stiles ribbited four times because he could, gave a chirp for good measure, and Derek snorted.

"You're ridiculous, and you're lucky I don't make you sleep in the toilet." Derek set him down on the armrest of the couch, bowl and all, near the lamp. The warm glow felt nice. "We'll pick this up in the morning, all right?"

Stiles blinked at him in acknowledgement, and he saw Derek shake his head again.

"Whatever. Goodnight, Stiles."

Stiles barely noticed when Derek bent forward, didn't think to wonder why until something warm brushed his skin.

He did notice when the bowl shattered, though, and the world immediately changed around him, a dizzying flash of color and light.

"What the—holy shit!" Stiles flailed his arms out, trying to keep his precarious balance on the armrest he was perched on. He probably would've brained himself on the living room table if Derek hadn't caught him, hands closing tightly around Stiles's thankfully clothed arms. He'd been wondering about that.

" _Stiles_?" Derek asked, looking shocked. Stiles was pretty shocked himself.

"Duh. We already knew this? Although, what the hell just happened, I couldn't begin to…" His words trailed off, and his jaw dropped. "Wait a minute. You just _kissed me goodnight_."

Derek flushed, the hint of color spreading down all the way down to his collarbones.

"Maybe?"

"Oh my God. We've be running around all night, looking for the person who could turn me back, and it was you the entire time!" Stiles felt giddy, almost delirious with it. "And then you just snuck one in. A stealth-smooch."

"I don't think that's exactly what happened," Derek said, sounding grumpy. "You must've hit your head."

"No, I didn't, because you caught me." Stiles was prepared to argue the point further, but he refused to be distracted, because the important thing was… "Holy shit, you love me back."

Derek stopped looking embarrassed for half a second, and instead looked…hopeful?

"Wait. _Back_?" 

Stiles nodded so quickly that he nearly fell over. The only reason he didn't was because Derek hadn't let him go, and if that wasn't a parallel for their entire relationship, he didn't know what was.

"Yes. Obviously. And I demand a do-over; true love's kiss shouldn't only be while one of us is a frog."

He thought Derek might dispute that, since Stiles usually needed a much stronger argument to convince Derek of anything. Instead, though, Derek just stared at his lips, before absently licking his own. Stiles could barely breathe.

"If you say so," he said quietly, and he leaned forward, slowly this time. Their lips barely brushed before Stiles was breathing out a shaky breath, warming the air between them as he closed his eyes. Derek's lips were so soft, a caress that was barely there, and Stiles chased the touch, mouth closing sweetly around Derek's bottom lip. Derek tasted clean from his shower, his mouth warm and perfect, and it _felt_ like true love's kiss. Or at least it did until Derek pushed him into a wall and proceeded to kiss a path down his throat, leaving hickeys like they were a trail of breadcrumbs to lead him home.

Oh well. As far as Stiles was concerned, there'd be time for fairytale kisses later.

***

END

**Author's Note:**

> Two things: 
> 
> One, Stiles is a tree frog, and the chirping is because that's a sound they make for a mating call. He was trying to get Derek's attention the entire time. XD
> 
> Two, werewolvesandarrows wrote a similar story a couple months ago where Derek got turned into a toad. It's funny and located [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5057944).
> 
> Feedback is very welcome, and I hope you all enjoyed; come visit me on [Tumblr](http://notboldly.tumblr.com) if you want!


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